Double Deuce

CHAPTER 1

Hawk and I were running along the river in April. It was early, before the Spandex-Walkman group was awake. The sunshine was a little thin where it reflected off the water, but it had promise, and the plantings along the Esplanade were beginning to revive.

“Winter’s first green is gold,” I said to Hawk.

“Sure,” he said.

He ran as he did everything, as if he’d been born to do it, designed for the task by a clever and symmetrical god. He was breathing easily, and running effortlessly. The only sign of energy expended was the sweat that brightened his face and shaved head.

“You working on anything?” Hawk said.

“I was thinking about breakfast,” I said.

“I might need some support,” Hawk said.

“You might?”

“Yeah. Pay’s lousy.”

“How much?” I said.

“I’m getting nothing.”

“I’ll take half,” I said.

“You ain’t worth half,” Hawk said. “Besides I got the job and already put in a lot of time on it. Give you a third.”

“Cheap bastard,” I said.

“Take it or leave it,” Hawk said.

“Okay,” I said, “you got me over a barrel. I’m in for a third.”

Hawk smiled and with his arm at his side turned his hand palm up backhand. I slapped it lightly once.

“Housing project called Double Deuce,” Hawk said. “You know it?”

“Twenty-two Hobart Street,” I said.

We were running past the lagoon now, on the outer peninsula. There were ducks there, pleased with the spring, paddling vigorously, and regularly sticking their heads underwater, just for the hell of it.

“Ever been in Double Deuce?”

“No.”

Hawk nodded and smiled. “Nobody goes in there. Cops don’t go in there, even black cops, except in pairs. Only people go in there are the ones that live there, which is mostly women and small children. And the gangs.”

“The gangs run it,” I said.

“For a little while longer,” Hawk said.

“Then who’s going to run it?”

“We is.”

We went over the footbridge from the lagoon and rejoined the main body of the Esplanade. There were several sea gulls up on the grass, trying to pass for ducks, and failing. It didn’t matter there was nobody feeding either of them at this hour.

“You and me?” I said.

“Un huh.”

“Which will require us, first, to clean out the gangs.”

“Un huh.”

“We got any help on this?”

“Sure,” Hawk said. “I got you, and you got me.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Why are we doing this?”

“Fourteen-year-old kid got killed, and her baby, drive-by shooting.”

“Gang?” I said.

“Probably. Church group in the neighborhood, women mostly, some kind of minister, couple of deacons. They got together, decided to stand up to the gangs. Neighborhood watch, public vigil, shit like that.”

“Bet that brought the Homeboys to their knees,” I said.

“There was another drive-by and one of the deacons got kneecapped.”

“Which probably cut back on the turnout for the next vigil,” I said.

“Sharply,” Hawk said. “And they talk to the Housing Police and the Boston Police and… ” Hawk shrugged. “So the minister he ask around and he come up with my name, and we talk, and he hire me at the aforementioned sum, which I’m generously sharing with you ‘cause I know you need the work.”

“What do they want done?”

“They want the murderer of the kid and her baby brought to, ah, justice. And they want the gangs out of the project.”

“You got a plan?” I said.

“Figure you and me go talk with the minister and the church folks, and then we work one out.”

The traffic was just starting to accumulate on Storrow Drive and the first of the young female joggers had appeared. Colorful tights stretched smoothly over tight backsides.

“The gangs don’t scare us?” I said.

“I a brother,” Hawk said.

“Double Deuce doesn’t scare you?” I said.

“No more than you,” Hawk said.

“Uh oh!” I said.